TTaT: With A Bang
by Timesprite
Summary: When a mission goes bad, Cable finds himself facing a reality he'd prefer not to think about. (Expansion on the flashback from Love(and Other Indoor Sports)).


Okay, just a short little something I forgot I'd finished. Thanks to Rapunzel, Cosmic, and Lyss, and Threnody who all looked it over at one point or another. 

Disclaimer: Dom and Cable aren't mine. I'm a poor student. You get the idea. Archive with permission.   
Note: This is basically an expansion on a flashback I wrote in 'Love (and other Indoor Sports).' So technically, it's a part of that timeline, though it happens quite some time before the events in that fic. 

  


With a Bang   
Timesprite 

Rain poured down, a precursor to the thunderstorm that was rumbling in the distance. He crouched down in the dark, senses alert. Ideally, this was supposed to be a cut and dry mission. He was only along as backup for Dom should something go awry. However, something had been feeling intuitively _wrong_ since they'd arrived, and it was only getting stronger.   
He was moving before he was consciously aware of it, certain now that they'd horribly misjudged the situation. He ran at top speed to where she was lying in wait for their target. A gunshot shattered the silence and he moved faster, knowing that it wasn't Dom's rifle that'd fired. 

At that point, reality seemed to blur around him. He remembered it clearly enough later, reaching the roof top, the brief scuffle with the other man, but at the time there was nothing until he was picking her up off the roof top. Then everything snapped into focus again. 

Blood was warm on his hands, its coppery smell sharp. He tore strips from the duster he was wearing, making an ineffectual bandage to try to stop the flow. In the lightning streaked night, her eyes slid open a crack. 

"Nate?" Her voice was threaded with pain. "Damnit... I didn't even-" 

"Do yourself a favor and shut up," he said gruffly, trying to mask his concern. The situation was not good. Even Domino's uncanny ability to have things go her way had not helped against an almost point blank gunshot, though he did find it close to miraculous that she was awake and this coherent. 

"How bad?" She demanded. Her features were drawn tight, skin paler than normal, a sickly grey in the light the storm was giving off. 

"Bad," he replied honestly. There was no use in dicing words with her. The rain began to pelt down harder. He took what was left of his coat and wrapped it around her. The air was cold and he knew there was already a good chance she was going into shock. 

"I didn't even hear him." She said again. "What went wrong?" Her voice was trembling. 

"Set up," he all but growled. "I knew there was something wrong here. I should have listened to my intuition." Inwardly, he was kicking himself for not calling the whole thing off. He had acted recklessly, and she was paying for it... possibly with her life if he didn't do something soon. He picked her up again carefully. "I'm getting you help." She didn't reply, her face relaxed in unconsciousness. 

---- 

Her life was bleeding away in his hands, his mind numbed by it. She was so still... handing her over was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He stood there dripping water on the floor, watching as they rushed her off. The sheets on the gurney were turning crimson.   
His only thoughts were that this couldn't be happening again... and that he didn't want her to die alone. 

It was his mistake. He'd let her walk into a trap. He was haunted by it. Who has been the real target? Who was meant to suffer? Was it as simple as someone wanting her dead, or more sinister, an attempt to wound him through her? 

Someone showed him to a chair. Someone handed him a cup of coffee. He remembered murmured assurances. 

Someone was asking him far too many questions, things he didn't have answers to. He lied on automatic. They didn't really believe it was an accident. They'd given them both long looks. No, this was no accident.   
He wanted them to go away. 

His fault. He knew that if she were here, she would have smacked him upside the head for blaming himself, and then point out that it was _her_ sloppiness that had allowed this to happen. Knowing that didn't make him feel much better, though. Instead he felt... lost? Confused was probably more accurate. A part of him knew that she'd most likely be fine. In pain and angry with herself, but fine. 

And she was. When they finally let him see her (with no small amount of suspicious glances) she was sleeping peacefully, still paler than was usual, dark hair in disarray, but otherwise whole and alive. Her hand was warm in his own and her eyes opened a sliver when he pushed errant strands of her hair back from her face. 

"Nate?" She asked, blinking blearily. 

"Yeah?" 

"Get me the hell out of here." 

"Okay."   


_Fin_

  
[][1]

   [1]: greymalkin/index.htm



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